


Wither

by delicaterosebud



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Tragedy, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13463877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicaterosebud/pseuds/delicaterosebud
Summary: Hanahaki Disease is an illness born of unrequited love, in which flowers bloom in the victim's lungs, causing them to cough flower petals. While relatively benign at first glance, the infection rapidly spreads throughout the body until it overtakes major organs and leads to the victim's death. It has only two cures: when the victim's feelings are returned, or through surgical removal, which has the unintended consequence of causing the victim's feelings for their love to disappear.___________________Hanzo had always seen relationships as a weakness. Falling in love meant giving another person power and control over his life. When he found himself completely reliant upon Jesse McCree, a man who loathed him, Hanzo knew that he was doomed from the very start.





	1. Prologue

Knowledge of Hanahaki had spread like wildfire - though not, perhaps, in the way that its victims would have cared to be remembered.

Literature, song, theater all rushed to romanticize the second “White Plague” as the love story of the century. As the innocent girl, pure of heart and spirit, whose suffering never did go unrewarded. As the strapping young man determined to outcompete his rivals despite the difficulties of a poorly acted cough and powder-induced pallor. The minute details were insignificant. All that mattered, at least to Hanzo, was the fact that every story ended in exactly the same way.

The realization of a love returned. Honor, fulfillment… redemption.

But he was older and wiser than that. Hanzo Shimada knew that a happy ending would never be given to man as wicked as he was. 

It was strange, staring down at the perfect little blossom cradled in his palm and knowing that it would someday kill him. Such a tiny, delicate thing, undeniable proof of his love that would grow unchecked only if he nurtured it.

…Only if he nurtured it. 

He filled a sake cup with water and let his flower float in the cool, summer moonlight. He set it on his windowsill next to an old, discarded bullet casing.


	2. Chapter 2

More often than not, Hanzo took his meals alone, relying on the portable stove and the rice cooker that he kept in his bedroom. No one mourned his absence. No one ever made a single comment – not aimed directly to him, anyway. Regardless, he knew that people talked, ranging from vapid gossip regarding ‘Genji’s strange brother’ to serious discussion amongst Overwatch’s most senior members, criticizing Hanzo’s lack of ability to integrate into the group -

As though they had forgotten that the only reason he stayed was for Genji… at least at first.

He left his room only for missions and training – and to sneak himself leftovers on nights when McCree had been saddled with cooking duty. Sitting alone in the dimly lit mess hall, nibbling at a cold, quickly drying fajita, Hanzo could imagine the room in vivid warmth and color. Sunlight trickling through the windows. The man he pictured sitting across from him would finally smile.

In reality, McCree smiled often, of course – just never for him. 

He couldn't blame the man. Hanzo was more than just an outsider, after all. He was a monster. A brother-killer. Somebody who had cut down McCree’s dear friend and left him for dead. His reasons, his _excuses_ , for doing so didn’t matter. There was no room for nuance when it came to that kind of betrayal. 

On the very first day of Hanzo’s arrival, the members of Overwatch had treated him with what could only be described as a distant and hesitant civility. Only McCree had possessed the courage to pull him aside, alone, and tell him what everybody surely must have been thinking, at that time. 

_“I’m watchin’ you. You step one foot out of line, Shimada, and I’ll put a bullet between your eyes. Only reason I haven’t already is ‘cause of Genji, beggin’ us to give you a second chance. …God knows you don’t deserve it.”_

…Strangely enough, Hanzo had loved that about him: his capacity for honesty, his unwavering loyalty, and his displays of brotherhood, especially to Genji, who needed it most. McCree was, in many ways, everything that he had wanted to be.

He was so deep in thought that hadn’t even noticed the door sliding open. McCree froze in the hallway, glaring at the room’s sole occupant. He’d only intended to grab a quick cup of coffee, though now, he wasn’t sure how he felt, having to brew it himself and showing his back to _Shimada_ , of all people.

“What? You finally done sneakin’ around?” From his tone, it may as well have been a murder accusation.

“Would you prefer that I joined your ‘communal suppers?’” Though he knew it was impossible, Hanzo foolishly wished, if only for a moment, that McCree would have invited him. “I did not… dislike your cooking.”

It was a compliment, coming from him – though McCree would never know as much. They weren’t close enough to understand the quirks in each other’s words, to notice the subtleties of their body language. 

“Well, thank God for that. Shimada liked my food. My world can keep on spinnin’, now.”

Despite everything, Hanzo smiled, pulling another fajita onto his plate and letting a tense, awkward quiet settle upon the room.

“…Damn it.” McCree’s nerves were rattled: another nightmare about the old days. He’d long since given up on trying to fall back asleep, after one of them. All that he could do, now, was endure the exhaustion until morning, when the excitement of daylight and the tittering voices of his makeshift family would pull him back into the land of the living. 

God, he needed his caffeine…

McCree stormed over to the coffeemaker and got started, ignoring the chilling sensation of eyes trained on the back of his skull. Every muscle in his body tensed - much to Hanzo's sorrow.

Silently, Hanzo wondered if, in another life, he could have seen Jesse relaxed and happy, brewing coffee for the both of them. He’d be dressed in his pajamas, just like he was now – except perhaps he would be wearing Hanzo’s shirt, instead, picked up off of the floor of their shared bedroom in a careless daze, after a raucous night of –

He closed his eyes. Hanzo never let the fantasy grow any further than that. It would be the death of him.

He hadn’t had time to react - even that thought alone threw him into a coughing fit. He clamped his hands over his mouth, squeezing tight, as if he could hold back the onslaught of pain and terror with nothing more than sheer effort alone. His entire body shook with the force of choking back thorns and thin, white petals. 

His chair skittered across the floor, as he shoved himself back, clawing at his neck in a desperate, animalistic attempt to open his airway. 

“H-Hey! Shimada!”

 _…Thank the gods._ Even in his panic, a part of him, perhaps the infection itself, seemed to recognize Jesse’s presence, taking comfort in the bruising grasp of the cowboy’s hand. 

With one, final struggle, he coughed a burst of crimson and ivory, pale petals and silver thorns, a glaring contrast against the deep red of his blood. Jesse’s grip on him loosened, barely preventing him from collapsing, as his knees gave out. It felt like an eternity - frozen in time, eyes closed, breathing in deep as blood dripped from his lips. At that moment, he was kept awake only by the warmth of Jesse’s hand on his shoulder - as if the cowboy had forgotten, in that instant, that he had despised everything about him.

For just a split second, that selfish part of Hanzo wondered if he could somehow guilt Jesse into staying with him, if somehow, even despite the pain, he could make that moment last forever… Just the thought of it horrified him. After all that time spent in penance - the years of solitude, the years of running, and now, working here, in Overwatch, in a den of snakes ready to lash out at him at a moment’s notice, still, Hanzo hadn’t learned a thing. 

“Does anyone else know?” It was McCree who broke the silence. When he finally stepped away, that impossible, unbridgeable distance was back between them in an instant. Gone was that moment of fragile peace, and in its place, the cold realization that Hanzo was kneeling in a pool of his own blood, surrounded by the evidence of a fruitless and foolish endeavor. 

He didn’t bother to answer McCree’s question, instead, staring blankly at the wall in front of him, as he ran his fingers over fallen petals. 

“Ain’t none of my business what you do in your private life,” he continued, cutting into him deeper and deeper with every word, “But if this puts anyone else at risk, if you start messin’ up on missions -”

“…I do not intend to do so.”

The cowboy only huffed, tugging a cigarillo from his case… before looking down at the man beneath him, still struggling to catch his breath. McCree could be fiercely stubborn, certainly, he could be overprotective of those closest to him, but he liked to think that wasn’t a monster, even to his enemies. With an irritated grumble, he shoved his cigarillo back in his pocket and helped Shimada up to his feet.

“Y’seen Angie about it?” As much as he hated the man, he had to admit that his death would devastate Genji. If he ever figured out that McCree knew and said nothing, why… he knew his sorry, ripped up carcass would end up at the morgue, sitting right next to Shimada's fucking greenhouse. 

“No.”

“Well, you should. Even if you don’t want the damn thing cured -” which he assumed Hanzo didn’t, based on how bad it had already gotten – “Maybe she can give you somethin’ to help with the cough.”

“Would you... like for me to speak with Mercy?” Hanzo asked, his voice, soft and warm - and so unfamiliar, it sent chills down McCree's spine.

“What?” McCree blinked back, utterly baffled that he had even been asked for his opinion. “Well… it’s your ass on the line, Shimada. Do what you want. But if I were you, I’d get that looked at.”

“Then I will.” Jesse’s approval… he realized that it was all he ever needed. “Thank you, Jess -”

“Don’t call me that,” he scoffed, walking towards the counter, only to lob a pack of paper towels in Hanzo’s direction, “To you, it’s ‘McCree’ – but t'be honest, it’d be better if we didn’t talk much at all. I ain’t gonna lead you on, here. Don’t really feel like makin’ friends with Genji’s murderer.”

“Very well… McCree.”


	3. Chapter 3

Even Mercy wasn’t fond of him. He could tell, from the stiffness of her normally fluid movements, the way her jaw tightened when she looked at him. …The way her eyes scanned over his features for any traces of similarity to his brother – for any evidence that Hanzo Shimada was human at all.

She was the one who had found Genji broken, only to put him back together again; it was only natural that she should feel some form of animosity towards his murderer. …At the very least, that was how Hanzo attempted to rationalize it.

If it weren’t for her impeccable professionalism, he was certain that she would have grabbed that needle and jabbed it into his -

“I will need to take a blood test to determine whether the infection has spread.”

“Spread to where?”

“Anywhere, truly. Hanahaki isn’t limited to the respiratory tract - though the media would never share that information. The advanced stages of illness don’t fit well into conventional romance plotlines - and the entertainment industry is at its most influential in decades.” There was a hint of quiet laughter – barely perceptible, though present all the same. It was… the first display of casual friendliness that Hanzo had experienced in years, and from anyone other than Genji. “In truth… the ‘flowers’ that develop inside of patients infected with Hanahaki Disease are not even plants at all.”

She tugged out the needle and placed her little vial of blood into a nearby scanner.

“Hanahaki… is a _fungus_ ,” Angela continued, “A parasitic fungal infection.”

“Then there is nothing romantic about it,” Hanzo joked, deadpan as ever.

“There is, in the sense that an unrequited love may induce a state of prolonged psychological stress that compromises immunity and leads to the eventual failure of TH cells to properly -” She was losing him, clearly. She could tell by that glazed over look in his eyes. A shame that nobody in the base shared her love of scientific discovery. “Well… Nobody knows the details, though there is strong evidence that it only affects those whose love is unrequited.”

“And it is… a mushroom?”

“Not every fungus is a mushroom, Shimada-san. The fungus responsible for Hanahaki Disease is… more similar to _Cordyceps_ , than anything else. It starts in the lungs, and releases spores and fragments of fruiting bodies through the induction of a cough. Most of the stories, fictional or otherwise, end there; most people don’t let it get any worse. But if it does… it travels upwards, to the brain, causing behavioral and psychological changes: anxiety, aggression, paranoia, compulsive hoarding, obsession…”

After billions of dollars of funding, due primarily to the introduction of a “Hanahaki Disease Awareness Day,” set on February 15th - _after everybody else had already had their fun_ – the scientific community was finally making progress. A team in China had managed to infect a single lab rat with the disease – a rat that had been shown to prioritize spending time with its “mate to be,” made of simple cloth, even to the detriment of its own health. Forgoing food, forgoing water – even that laced with morphine. 

“…What are the other symptoms?”

“The media is correct with regards to the fact that Hanahaki Disease is fatal, if left untreated. There have been few recorded cases of the disease progressing as far as that, but every single one of those deaths can be attributed to either starvation, dehydration, or… widespread infection and multiple organ failure… though, mercifully, those patients would not have been lucid enough to realize what was happening to them. Before that, however… fruiting bodies infect the optic nerve and burst through to consume the tissues of the eye and associated -”

“Then it is a slow death.”

“Yes.”

“And a painful one.”

“…Yes.”

Hanzo let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. A gruesome death… At the very least, however, he wouldn’t be conscious for the worst of it. But Genji –

Slaughtered by his own brother. Genji had lain down his sword; he’d refused to fight, refused to be a pawn to the will of their elders. …Hanzo never said it aloud, never dared to admit it, but his brother had always been so strong.

“There is no need to fret. You have several treatment options,” Angela continued, her voice, soothing and neutral, “Though no antifungal medication has proven effective in curing Hanahaki Disease, combination therapy can slow its progression until you make an ultimate decision regarding your treatment approach. The most effective option is, of course, simply removing the source of infection through surgery.”

“…And erasing my feelings for -” He stopped himself short - and considered himself fortunate that Mercy was respectful enough not to pry. 

“For the object of your affections. That is correct. …It is an option that many patients choose to take. There is no shame in it.”

Oh, but there was. 

Taking the easy way out when his brother had suffered. Relying on medicine, cheating his fate. …And perhaps Hanahaki was fate. The mighty heir of the Shimada clan, eaten alive from the inside out, due to the weakness of his own heart. There was no honor in such a death.

“Though there is another option. Have you considered confessing your feelings to -”

“No!” He sighed, running his fingers through his bangs. He hadn’t intended to shout. “…No. He would not approve of this… infatuation.”

“If you are so certain, then would you not consider the surgery? If I may speak freely, Shimada-san, I am concerned that you have allowed your illness to progress as far as it already has. There will come a time when even the surgery will not save you. You will need to make a decision quickly.”

“I understand.” Though he wouldn’t admit as much to her, Hanzo had already made his decision. He had his reasons. “Are you under any obligation to inform the others about this… condition?”

“No. On the contrary – unless your illness grows so severe that it begins to hinder your combat performance, I am duty-bound to protect your confidentiality. You will have the freedom to tell the others when you are ready.” If he was ever ready. Psychologically, Hanzo was already suffering; he wasn’t even stable from the start. She’d sent him messages and pamphlets, trying to convince him to seek treatment, only to be turned away at every opportunity. There was only so much that she could do, and in truth, while she could sympathize with the guilt that he surely felt, isolating himself from the rest of the world, the part of her that was only human felt as though perhaps he deserved it. That he deserved Hanahaki: to feel abandoned, and lost, and so terribly alone, just like Genji had, all those years ago.

…Though it shamed her just to have thought something so horrid, especially regarding a patient that had no choice but to trust her.

“Before you go, Shimada-san… know that if you require any assistance – or simply somebody to listen - I am here to support you.”

“…Thank you.” His thanks were just as empty as her offer. A social expectation. Proper form. 

He would never know that, in her own way, Angela truly did care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments! I do read each and every one, even if I don't always have the time to respond. 
> 
> I appreciate all of the feedback that I've received so far, and I look forward to reading your messages regarding this and future chapters!


	4. Chapter 4

Much to his surprise, Mercy kept her promise. Nobody ever learned of his condition. His death sentence.

As such, Hanzo continued to receive mission assignments, one after the other… as though Winston and the other “elders of Overwatch” couldn’t wait to be rid of him. He wondered what they would have done, if they received news of his death on the battlefield. They would band together to comfort Genji, most likely… though when his back was turned... oh, they would _spit_ on his grave.

He knew it... He just _knew_ that they would. ...But would Jesse? That was the only question that mattered.

In his fantasies, after the “proper” show of public disdain for him, taking part in Overwatch's very own Two Minutes Hate, Jesse would return to his bedroom... and he would weep. Gods, if only Jesse mourned, that would have been enough for him. He would be able to feel that warmth, even from beyond the veil.

That flitting heat in his chest began anew. 

Trembling from anticipation, Hanzo dug his fingers into the hole in his mattress, pulling out a torn corner of Jesse’s serape. The cowboy had lost it during a recent mission to King’s Row, torn upon a rooftop’s pointed décor. Jesse hadn’t noticed until they’d returned to the transport – and after Hanzo had already squirreled away the little piece of cloth, knowing that he would cherish it for the rest of his days. 

...What few of them remained.

He took the cloth in hand and reached down – _lower and lower_ – until he’d slipped it into his trousers. 

“J-Jesse…”

He stayed there for hours, rubbing himself raw. He didn't mind the pain; he could have _torn it off_ for all he cared. It was all for him, after all.

Only for him.

...A message popped up on his computer, that obnoxiously cheerful tone, startling him out of his reverie. ...And utterly ruining the mood. His heart rate returned down to normal at a snail's pace, the seconds dragging on like hours. He pressed the cloth, stained with cum, over his chest, savoring the moment for just a minute longer before tucking it away in his precious place and stumbling over to the check his communications.

Despite their glaring disdain for him, the members of Overwatch still sent him the odd invitation to attend their group activities. It was all part of protocol, he was certain. Purposefully isolating a single member would cause them to lose face. Whether anybody actually wanted him there or not was inconsequential - not as though Hanzo would ever deign to sacrifice the sanctity of his solitude for them.

...But he would for Jesse.

That ridiculous cowboy who shined so brightly that Hanzo, cruel and frigid, couldn't help but draw near, as if he could steal away just a little bit of that warmth for himself, in the process. Though he knew that he didn’t have the right to claim a love like that, he couldn’t help but pine for it. How could he stop himself from seeking out a moment in the sun after a decade spent in darkness? 

He had to try harder. He had to win him over - make Jesse love him - he _had to_.

It was for that reason that he decided, finally, to accept the invitation on his computer and join the rest of the team during their pointless, vapid little “game night.” …Just once.

Just to be with him.

Hanzo stood in front of the mirror for the rest of the afternoon, foregoing lunch, skipping training, just to try on every single kimono he owned, pairing them with haori and matching accessories, in some desperate attempt to find the winning combination that would catch Jesse’s eye. ...That could somehow compensate for his glaring lack of charm and crippling fault of character.

_Look at me._

It was all he wanted. He chose a red ribbon to match Jesse's serape.

_Look at me._

A bold patterned kimono to take his breath away.

_Look at me._

The obi cinched on far too tightly, to exaggerate his figure. Even if Jesse would never truly love him, at the very least, he would lust for him. 

...If he only lusted and mourned, perhaps that would finally be enough.

_______________________________

When he arrived in the living room, the laughter and conversation ceased almost instantly, with only the large, obnoxious man in heavy armor continuing to joke about absolutely nothing despite the clear change in mood.

“Oh - Anija, welcome!” The sound of Genji’s voice behind that helmet… It drained the color from his face, robbed the strength from his bones - 

Hanzo took a step back, and then another. 

“...It is good of you to join us," Genji continued, "Right, everyone?”

Quiet murmurs of affirmation surfaced through the room – few, if any, sounding sincere in the slightest to Hanzo's ears. 

“We’re playing Cards Against Humanity!” the girl in the parka tacked on, as unpleasantly bubbly as ever. _Insignificant twit_. He hadn’t bothered to learn her name. Hadn’t bothered to learn anyone’s, except for Jesse's. 

“I am… unfamiliar with that game title,” Hanzo mumbled, averting his gaze. In the face of Genji’s presence, his resolve was quickly faltering. Before he could lose it completely, however, his brother had already pulled up a chair between himself and McCree. 

“Not a problem,” Genji laughed, “I can teach you – if you think that you can keep up!”

Gods, that laughter pulled at his heartstrings. Joyful and innocent… It sounded so much like the boy he had known during those halcyon days in Hanamura. The one who used to sneak him into town, who had convinced him to try the local ramen, who had clung to him and wept after his very first rejection –

Even as _whatever he was now_ , Genji was so much more human than Hanzo had ever been.

“If I fail to understand the basic concepts of this game, it is more a reflection of the teacher than the student… is it not?”

“Ah! You wound me!” 

It was so easy to fall back into old habits, old conversation… Though he couldn’t see his face, as he sat down at the table, Hanzo could tell that his brother was happy. 

...

...

… _Right_. 

His brother. Making amends. Despite his initial determination, Hanzo had seemingly forgotten the entire reason that he'd joined Overwatch in the first place. He’d forgotten about his brother - hadn’t truly thought of him in weeks. His mind raced with the possibilities. ...Something was happening to him. Logically, he knew that he should have interrupted the game right then and there, and asked Mercy to take him away to the infirmary. ...But just as he was about to act, a quiet, little whisper in the back of his mind told him to look to the left.

As the game continued, with his brother rambling on about rules and modern media references that Hanzo wouldn't have understood, even had he been paying attention, he stole furtive glances at Jesse, who made a great effort to look across the table - and to the floor and the ceiling – everywhere but towards the man to his right.

Jesse had just trimmed his beard, Hanzo realized. The scent of cheap aftershave, likely coming from a plastic bottle with a printed picture of a pine tree, was absolutely overpowering. Even so… Hanzo found that he liked it. It was unabashedly, proudly McCree. Tomorrow, he decided, he would go to the drug store and sample every single bottle on the shelves until he found the one that matched.

 _And he would take that bottle and shove it right up his_ -

“Ha! That’s the win for me, loves!” the short haired, English woman announced.

“Aw, c’mon! One point away! You know I deserved it,” McCree quipped back, all in good fun.

“Did not. Mine was funnier! Even our resident sourpuss is smiling~”

“...Hm?” Hanzo realized, with horror, that he _was_ , indeed, smiling like an idiot. …Smiling at McCree. As quickly as he could manage, he looked away - though he knew the man had already noticed. 

“Oh. ...Yes," he flippantly replied to 'Short-Haired British Woman,' "Your entry into this round was… funny. Quite funny.”

“Would you like to join this next game, Anija?” The question was only a formality; Genji had already handed him a little pile of cards. 

Hanzo sighed, though his smile remained... “You never provided me with the opportunity to refuse.”

“Of course not! If I did, you’d already be out the door,” Genji laughed, picking up his own deck of cards, “And I’d have to be crazy to give up this chance to utterly _destroy you_.”

“We shall see, Genji, just who destroys whom…”

Suddenly, as if to break their fragile moment of brotherly bonding, McCree scoffed, glaring at him with such scathing disapproval that it froze the very blood in his veins - “Yeah. ...We all know you’re damn good at it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for your feedback~
> 
> I really appreciate the opportunity to incorporate it into this story!


	5. Chapter 5

Genji had thrown a fit over McCree’s insensitive outburst, calming himself only when the cowboy relented and finally apologized - though Hanzo knew that the man was only attempting to lighten the mood. Fixing together a forced smile, McCree had offered him some of his homemade jerky as a peace offering.

_It was so **fucking** disgusting that Hanzo could barely repress the urge to vomit._

“Thank you, McCree. It was delicious.” _Anything of yours is a treasure. You didn’t leave your toothbrush in the hotel, by the way - I stole it out of your medicine cabinet and have been using it for several days, now! Thank you so much, Jesse, for keeping your window unlocked_ … “I appreciate the gesture.”

“Yeah,” McCree answered, waving his hand dismissively, “No problem.”

“Now, this is what I like to see,” Genji interrupted, throwing his arm over Hanzo’s shoulder, “My brother and my best friend getting along so well. We should have game nights more often! You could use the practice, Anija - zero points again. How embarrassing!”

“I do not understand these cards,” Hanzo muttered, squinting at the winning entry, “What is a… ‘Hungry Man frozen Christmas dinner for one?’”

“It’s what you’re going to have if you don’t lighten up.” Genji sighed, placing his cold, robotic hand on Hanzo’s shoulder, “…I can already see you, sobbing into a tray of greasy meatloaf.” 

With a mischievous laugh, he gave Hanzo a playful shove, knocking him right against the object of his affections. 

“Say, McCree, you can make up for your ‘slip of the tongue’ earlier by teaching my dearest brother all about your American ways. He is so stiff and formal... You should take him to a fast food restaurant with a ball pit. Or to a rodeo!”

“ **Yes!** ” Hanzo shouted, startling everyone at the table – particularly Mercy, who looked at him with knowing eyes and a slowly deepening frown, “I-I mean to say that… I concur with my brother’s assessment. I have much to learn regarding your customs. Any experience at all would prove most enlightening.”

“And you want to learn by – what? Makin’ me buy you a burger?”

That earned them a couple of chuckles from around the table… much to Hanzo’s chagrin. They dared to mock him? Could they not sense the endless depth of his sincerity? At the very least, their laughter was infectious; soon enough, even McCree was smiling. 

Smiling at _him_.

“Fine, fine… I’ll take you to a diner one of these days, Shimada. I'll even buy you a milkshake.”

_He could hardly believe it._

His first date… which should surely lead to his first kiss, his first opportunity to hold someone's hand, his first time bending over for Jesse - _his Jesse_ , as he fucked him raw against the counter. How many people would he invite to their wedding? Where would it be? What would he wear? 

He could already picture everything. It would be _perfect._

“That sounds… excellent,” he replied, holding back a veritable deluge of emotion behind a flimsy mental gate, “Most good. I shall await that day with great anticipation.”

\--------------------------------------

…But days passed, then weeks, and then almost a month, all with no invitation from Jesse. Hanzo was a man who took great pride in his near-limitless patience, but even he was growing anxious.

Despite how close they’d become during their last meeting - and they’d made a genuine, one-of-a-kind, heartfelt connection, he was sure of it - it somehow appeared as though Jesse had lost all interest in him. It hurt so badly… worse than any bullet he’d ever taken. 

Though his alarm had started blaring ages ago, Hanzo continued to lie, hour after hour, staring into an endless darkness. …He hadn’t slept in three days.

Every time he came close, a part of him would wonder – 

…Had Jesse changed his mind?

 _Or was he already fucking somebody else_?

Just the thought of it filled him with a blind, insatiable rage. He’d broken his mirror in a frenzy - still hadn’t picked out the glass from his knuckles. That was probably it... Who in the world could it be? Was it Mercy, he wondered. The British woman? … _Was it Genji_? 

Gods, he had to stop them! Hanzo forced himself to stand on trembling legs, dragging himself out of his room.

“ _Jesse_!” he shouted blindly with reckless abandon, “Jesse!” 

…The scent of cheap, pine aftershave caught him like a spell. Just like that, he was running, _sprinting_ down the hallway as though his life depended on it. 

“Holy - Shimada, was that you screamin’ my name a second ago? What the hell’s goin’ on?!” 

“Oh, Jesse!” He wanted to weep… Awkward laughter flooded through the empty hallway. Jesse took a step back, and Hanzo took two steps forward. “I just… wanted to remind you that forgot to arrange our date. Th-Though the fault is mine, primarily. I should have taken the initiative.” When they got married, it would be best for Hanzo take control of their shared schedule. He was the most organized out of the two of them, after all. 

Jesse would love it. 

“Whoa, there… Slow down. What ‘date?’”

“Our date to the American diner!” 

“Wait, what? You serious? C'mon, that was just a _joke_ , Shimada. Didn’t you know that? Hell, why would you even want to -”

“…"

A throbbing pulse thundered between his ears, drowning out Jesse's words. Darkness crept into the corners of his vision. Slowly, Hanzo began to lose sensation in his toes, and then his ankles…

Gods, what was that feeling? 

That tightness in his chest, the pressure behind his eyes... He doubled over, digging his fingers into Jesse’s serape as he struggling to catch his breath.

“Hey! Shimada! Can you hear me?”

 _The feeling of strong hands, holding him up, even when he couldn’t see a thing_ –

Hanzo mustered up what little strength he had left to suppress the need to cough. He wouldn’t cause any more of a scene. _Wouldn’t want to frighten Jesse any further_. He wretched, clamping his hand against his mouth, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes… as a sickening warmth trickled between his fingers. 

_Blood_.

“Oh, shit…” McCree dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against Hanzo’s mouth, before quickly leading him out of the hallway and into the one private place that he surely knew best. 

…They sat there, on the sofa in Jesse’s bedroom, for what felt like a blessed eternity. 

Leaning against his love for support, enveloped by the warmth of his body and the scent of that handkerchief, Hanzo could reclaim a long-forgotten peace that had eluded him for decades. He felt five years old again, nestled in his mother’s blankets.

“…You okay?” McCree asked, after a long, quiet moment of peace.

“Yes,” he answered honestly, resisting the urge to cling to him like a lovestruck schoolgirl, “I am now.” 

McCree sighed, shifting away and furthering the distance between them. 

“I thought you said you got that Hanahaki shit looked at.”

“I did. But I… elected to abstain from the surgery.”

There were no words of comfort. No gentle touches. McCree wasn’t about to offer, he was sure. They were men, after all – _proud_ men. And if Hanzo knew anything about proud men, it was that they were destined to suffer in silence.

He hadn’t expected McCree to say anything at all, in fact – much less to wrap that serape around his shoulders, shielding him in warmth and light.

“You’re a real dumbass, you know that?”

He couldn’t help but smile, despite the insult… “Is it truly so unreasonable that I would choose to nurture my feelings for the man who means more to me than life itself?”

“…’Til recently, I didn’t think you could love anyone – man or woman.”

“You knew that I loved Genji.”

“Yeah – _no_. Maybe you think you do, but I saw him, lyin’ there on Angie’s table. You didn’t just kill him. You tore him to shreds. You tried to fucking _erase_ him!”

“…I know.”

With his vision slowly returning, he could see the look of shock on McCree’s features… and the telling wrinkles of stubborn cynicism. 

“Genji is always so eager to blame it on the elders - but it was not them who struck him down. …It was me. I had always possessed the freedom to walk away. What I truly lacked… was the courage. Even a dragon must flow like water, lest he crash upon the stones in the futility of his struggle: it is what I had always believed. But Genji always had the strength to resist, even when the waves pulled him under time and again, even when he was doomed to drown.” Feigning weakness, he leaned against McCree’s shoulder and stared down at his knees with a smile, endlessly fond. “Just this once… I, too, would like to go against the tide.”

“Even if it’ll kill you?”

“ _Because_ it will kill me. …He must have been so afraid, so heartbroken. Compared to what Genji has endured… this is _nothing_.” …He was lucid enough to truly remember that, now. 

“Who is it, anyway?” McCree hesitantly asked, morbid curiosity finally getting the better of him, “The one who’s got you all tied up like this in the first place?”

“He is… a rogue and a fool.”

Jesse barked out a laugh… though not an entirely unkind one. “Hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do not concern yourself over it - not when you have already freed yourself from the 'burden' of escorting me to the diner." He smiled up at him, hoping that he could convey, in his gaze, all the love that he had. "...This is no less than I deserve. Struggling against the tide as my body grows weaker, pining for a bond that I cannot have.” 

A love for a man who shone so brightly, it could blind him. 

“If this is to be my fate… then I am content to see it through to the end. To watch over and support him while I still have the strength to stand on my own two feet.”

For once, with his silver tongue turned to lead, all McCree could do was lean back and let the hours tick by, with Shimada, resting peacefully by his side.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite what most passing strangers seemed to believe, McCree was not a stupid man. He’d had his suspicions from the very start. After all, out of all the members of Overwatch, Shimada had only ever bothered to learn one name - his.

…The realization had unsettled him, at first, though after their last encounter, after lugging Shimada’s unconscious body halfway across the base to the infirmary, a part of him felt that he should have been kinder to him. He was a dying man, after all. By the time that they’d arrived, McCree’s shirt had been covered in blood and persistently clinging petals. 

Despite that pang of sympathy, however, another part of him entirely - the tired old cynic - knew to tread softly. Shimada was the manipulative kind of snake who wouldn't think twice about using other people’s emotions against them. 

“Athena.”

“Yes, Agent McCree?”

“Bring up images of Genji’s initial arrival on base.”

He’d spent hours looking at those picture, trying to rekindle his hatred anew. A man who could commit such an unspeakable atrocity towards his own flesh and blood, who had the _gall_ to come crawling back as though nothing had happened, surely, was not capable of love. 

…He couldn’t be.

Of course, McCree wasn’t so dense that he didn’t recognize his own hypocrisy. In the Deadlock Gang, he'd resorted to kidnapping and murder to further his own agenda. He had no right to judge Shimada for his sins... And yet, he was only human. He couldn't help it. What he’d seen of Shimada that day must have been the desperation talking. If he was that close to death, he would have said anything to win McCree over to his side. Any man would, in that position. 

Well, McCree wouldn’t be guilt-tripped. He wouldn’t be fooled. 

…But as the days dragged on, with no word from Angela and no sign of Shimada anywhere, a sinking feeling slowly formed in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, his resolve began to waver, a chilling sense of dread replacing what fading traces of hatred he had left.

Though he knew that whatever happened to Shimada wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling somewhat responsible. At the very least, he owed it to Genji to talk his brother out of this insanity. It was different than just another death on the battlefield. Different than the inevitable truth that McCree had prepared himself for time and time again: that soldiers died. What Shimada was doing - the needless suffering, the pining… 

It was _suicide_. 

God, it sickened him. …Well, enough waiting around. Enough doing nothing, enough of feeling helpless. He stormed out of his bedroom and made his way to the infirmary, himself.

It was one of the largest sectors of the base, designed to accommodate dozens of injured troops during Overwatch’s glory days. Now, however, it mostly sat empty, with the majority of the rooms sporting outdated equipment, if they even had equipment at all. …He wondered if Shimada was stuck in one of those empty "cells." If Angela were any less than the pinnacle of professionalism, perhaps she truly would have put him there, knowing what he’d done to Genji. 

A part of McCree agreed that he would have deserved it… but another now knew he wouldn’t have the heart to condemn him to such a fate. Dying alone, in a hospital bed, from a disease that he could have cured -

It was just too miserable.

The automatic doors granted him entry, and immediately, he started looking for him, hallway by hallway, room by room, until Angela’s voice stopped him in his tracks. Despite knowing just how unethical it was to pry, McCree pressed his ear against the door.

“…Shimada-san, please listen.” He could hear the frustration, even from behind her carefully constructed, professional tone. “The fungus has evolved immunity to your antifungal agents. Similarly, it has already begun to induce multiple enzymes to degrade your antipsychotics and your antidepressants. If… rather _when_ the infection spreads further, I will no longer be able to assist you. I cannot safely increase the doses of your medications any further than I already have, or you could go into liver failure. Your window of opportunity to receive the surgery is quickly coming to a close.”

“It was my understanding, Doctor, that you were to provide unbiased care.”

“It is. But it is also my duty to inform you of all of your options and to educate you regarding the consequences that will arise from whichever path you choose. If you do not receive the surgery, then by my estimate, I would put your remaining lifespan at two months - perhaps even as short as six weeks.”

“Six weeks... Then my time to act is running short. Do you… think that I should speak with Jesse? As his friend and dear companion, pray tell, do you believe that I could have a chance at success?” 

And there it was. The confirmation of all of his fears. That Shimada was dying because from an unrequited love for _him_.

“Fuck -” McCree couldn’t help but cuss under his breath. Out of all the people Shimada could have chosen... As if he hadn’t had enough trouble in his life. Enough grief. 

_Genji would never forgive him._

“Fuck.” He pressed his ear back against the door.

“So it is Jesse,” Angela sighed.

“It is.”

“Whether you speak to him should be your decision and yours alone. Though in my personal opinion, not as a doctor, but as your… coworker –” McCree caught that hesitation. Not ‘friend.’ Never ‘friend.’ “You do not have anything left to lose. There will be no further risk of awkwardness during missions. As your illness has progressed this far… I have no choice but to call for a meeting, recommending that you be removed from Overwatch’s roster.”

“...I understand.” Unbelievable. He didn’t even bother to argue. “I must ask, however… will I be permitted to remain in this watchpoint? …I would like to be with the one that I love.”

“Whether you will be permitted to stay is ultimately Winston’s decision – but I cannot imagine him denying you something as simple as that.”

“Then he is not so shameless as to spit upon a dying man’s last request… hm?”

“So morbid, Shimada-san,” she chuckled, a little bit of life coming back into her voice, “Is that why you are so fond of Jesse?”

“It is. I have always been rather sullen. Even as a boy, I was… content to be contemptuous. …But Jesse makes me want to... better myself, even beyond what I had intended for Genji’s sake. If I have the opportunity to do so… I would like to become the kind of partner that Jesse McCree would deserve.”

“Then go - and tell him the truth,” Angela ushered, with that quiet, motherly brand of dignity that she reserved only for the ill and dying, “He carried you all the way here from the dorms. Did you know that? He tried to play gruff, as he always does, but he was worried about you. I could tell.” Jesse could hear her stand up, pushing herself away from her desk. The sound of clinking metal… likely undoing Shimada's IV. 

He would be looking for him, soon, then. Better to return to his room, Jesse considered, before anybody could realize he’d been eavesdropping.

_______________________

He waited and waited well into the evening, unable to sleep… and yet Shimada never arrived. Not until almost three days later. 

Though when he did, Jesse didn’t think he’d ever seen such a beautiful sight. With his hair down, even though it had greyed significantly, Shimada looked… _younger_ , somehow. Innocent, despite his stoic formality. …And was that eyeliner? _Was he wearing makeup_? Jesse squinted, just to be sure – 

Oh, Shimada blossomed under his attention. 

Such a radiant smile on such a monstrous man. 

“Shimada,” he greeted with a tip of his hat, growing uneasy all over again, even as he feigned stupidity, “Haven’t seen you in trainin’ lately.”

“I… have been removed from active duty,” he confessed, “I failed a psychological evaluation. …Two of them, in a row.”

“Shit, that… sucks. …Fuck -” McCree shook his head, scolding himself for his own insensitivity, “Hell, y’know what I mean. If it’s gotten that bad, you sure you’re okay to be standin’ ‘round here in the cold? …You wanna come in?” 

“I would. Thank you.” 

Shimada kicked off his sandals and made himself right at home, plopping down on McCree’s sofa – and somehow avoiding all of the lumpy spots – as though he’d sat on it a dozen times already. 

“Look –” Jesse began, unwilling to keep up a pointless charade. He took a seat by his side and tried to avoid eye contact. “Truth is, I was listenin’ in on you n’ Angie.”

“I know,” Shimada announced with pride, “I could smell your aftershave through the air vent.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, despite the tension. It just _had_ to be the aftershave… “Well, then, guess I owe you a big ‘thank you.’ Angie would’ve tanned my hide if she found out I was snoopin'.”

“It was my pleasure, McCree. …I want to protect you.”

An awkward silence settled between them as Shimada drifted closer, all while wearing that intolerable, loving smile.

“But you gotta tell me somethin’ - why’re you doin’ this? Don’t you know Genji’ll tear himself apart if you end up bitin’ it? Don’t you care? Hell, all you did since you came here is try your damnest to prove that you ain’t the same man who fucked everything up in the past.” There. He admitted it. He’d noticed all of Shimada’s grueling efforts, his pain and his sorrow… The man had tried so hard, all for the sake of something as intangible as redemption. “You gave it everything you got, and now you’re just gonna throw it all away?” 

“I am. In truth... I have always detested this group. I joined Overwatch because I wished to atone for what I had done to my brother. But walking this path alone has proved far more difficult than I had presumed. Over the years, I have grown accustomed to solitude, but staying here in this watchpoint with all of you, enduring the scorn and the isolation... While I know that I deserve nothing less, it has taken its toll upon me, regardless.”

Had Shimada been frightened all this time? ...Had they been too hard on him?

“ _I wanted to run away_.”

“...Then why didn’t you?”

That gentle touch upon his arm - Nobody had ever held him like that. As though he were precious. As though Shimada were afraid he would simply shatter, right then and there.

“I joined Overwatch for Genji, but the reason that I stayed… was because I wanted to be with you.”

Guilt flashed through him, cutting like a knife, breaking him down in the face of Shimada’s sincerity. 

“I understand why you do not return my feelings. My heart is weak. I know that I have yet to make a sincere effort to serve this organization that you love. I know that I must redeem myself. …I still have so far to go.”

“You do, but you’ll get there. After all of this is over, I’ll talk to the others, and we’ll do better by you. It’s gonna take time. Lot of hurt feelings goin’ ‘round - and I ain’t gonna lead you on, I’m still a little sour. …Look, I’m sorry, I really am – but I don’t love you back, Shimada. I don’t think I ever will.”

“I know.”

“Well, shit - If you know I won’t ever love you back, why don’t you just save Genji a lot of grief and just get this thing treated?”

“You do not understand. As a boy, I was forbidden to leave the castle. Forbidden to explore, to love, to desire… But what I want, not for the sake of honor or redemption, but for _myself_ , as a man… is nothing more than a love of my own. A love with you. I do not want to lose this. Even if you would turn me away, McCree… I will gladly love you until the day I die.”

Of course that wasn’t true. Of course Shimada wanted more. But if he said it, if he foolishly dared to give it shape and form, that would have made it real. Instead, they sat there for what felt like decades, just… looking at each other, burning that moment into their memories. 

Slowly, with a tenderness that he didn’t know he could ever possess, Jesse cradled Shimada’s smaller hand in his. 

“Shimada -” 

It was so fragile, like a little porcelain doll. 

“ _Hanzo_ … get the surgery.”

...And just like that, in a silent furor, the man before him fell apart.


	7. Chapter 7

He couldn’t believe how quickly their lives had deteriorated.

Six weeks, spiraling down into panic and madness. 

Had he always been this fragile? …Or had such a towering, unmovable object truly crumbled under the weight of their disdain for him? 

Chipping away at his barriers. Sending his pillars crashing down.

He wondered if he would ever have the chance to apologize -

Though he knew full well that he was a man beyond redemption.

 

What could he have done differently? Where was the tipping point? 

They’d sent out a formalized email quite some time ago, revealing all of Hanzo’s dirty little secrets to the rest of the team. Laying bare his fear and desperation, all in impersonal, passive voice. …He saw a spelling error on page three. The page which described how Hanzo was slowly going blind. How his hair was turning white and how his skin was so blotchy because… the fungus was eating away at whatever cells just happened to make his pigments; he couldn’t remember the name of them. 

He could only focus on that spelling error. 

…That, and the fact that they hadn’t mentioned his name at all.

Omitting information about the one person that kept Hanzo going. Erasing his humanity, snuffing out his light in the darkness. And Jesse knew, now, that he _was_ his light, whether he'd intended to become it or not. 

If it would keep him alive, he could accept the role with pride.

Not that hiding his name did any good. The others weren’t as stupid as he thought, either. It only took a single day for them to figure it out. For Genji to come knocking down his door – or trying to. 

Even the desperate, frantic pleas of a terrified younger brother couldn’t force McCree to fall in love. ...Of course it couldn’t. If even Hanzo's voice had failed to move him during the night when everything had changed, then surely, it was a lost cause. 

The memory of Hanzo’s hand in his sent chills down his spine.

…What more could he have done? 

After everybody learned the truth, his teammates rallied around him, forming the spitting image of that stock phrase, ‘loving friends and family,’ that had been constantly mentioned in the email about Hanzo – all directed towards the wrong person. 

"It’s not your fault," they said. 

_It was._

‘You’ll be okay.’ 

_He wouldn’t._

"You can count on us."

_…He didn’t want to._

 

Not after what had happened. 

\--------------------

It had started as just another morning. Another casual breakfast in the mess hall, when the door slid open. 

He hadn’t seen Hanzo in ages, though he could always feel his presence, like a gentle breath on the back of his neck, barely there. The man stuck to the shadows, drawing near, but never close enough to touch. 

Jesse hadn't spoken up when his clothes had begun to go missing from the dryer. A sock one day, then his boxers the next. …Then his shirt, when Hanzo had grown just a little bit bolder.

He never finished his meals, either - knowing that Hanzo would slip in afterwards and polish them off, if only so that their _spit_ could combine, or whatever ridiculous reasoning that the disease was making him use at the time.

Hanzo always ran. Always hid. And for that reason, Jesse never expected him to just… burst into the room, eyes wide, _furious_ – 

“…Why are you taking him from me?," he asked, his voice, trembling - " _Why is Jesse on the mission roster_?!” 

During their time working together, Hanzo had endured bullet wounds, shrapnel, burns – all in stoic silence. 

But the way he _screamed_ …

 

_Seventeen and stupid, taking hostages at a fucking bank, Jesse McCree of the Deadlock Gang, pried a little girl to his side, begging and crying. He pressed his gun to her temple, but the cops refused to pull back -_

_Her mother’s scream when he pulled the trigger..._

_It sounded just like Hanzo’s voice._

 

“Tell me!”

“…How did you gain access to that information?” Winston’s cold, logical tone echoed with cruel finality. “I removed you from our communications.”

“ _I_ told him.” 

Genji stood shamelessly, pushing himself away from the table so fast that he toppled plates, cups – the mess didn’t even register. “What you are doing to my brother is cruel. Have you no pity?”

“I wouldn’t have scheduled Agent McCree if it wasn’t necessary. But as things are, Route 66 is a maze. We need to take advantage of his familiarity with the area. We –”

“ _ **Liar!**_ ” Hanzo stalked forward, his posture, cruel and aggressive. “…You have always hated me... have you not? All of you!”

“That’s not true!” Lena insisted, stepping in front of Winston as Hanzo drew closer and closer, seething. 

“Quiet! Q-Quiet… _Be quiet_! You are… feigning everything, are you not?”

“'Feigning' what?”

“ _Everything_! This… This ‘Emily’ woman you constantly drone on about – If she exists, then _where is she_?! Why have I never seen her? You are not a... a woman who _sleeps with women_! You are after my Jesse! I know you are!”

“You’ve lost it!”

“Finally, I can see _all of you_ for what you are… Liars, thieves, snakes! Even my own brother!” 

“Anija, please, stop this!” 

“You never wanted me to be happy… did you? Even when we were young, always… bringing your ‘trophies’ back to the castle -"

“My trophies?”

“Your… bruises and photographs… The torn clothing… All of your lovers. A-And for all of my life, I was… I was so lonely.....”

“…It was never my intention to brag,” Genji tried to reason, softening his voice, "I never knew that you cared, or I would have –”

“And Otou-sama… You took him, as well – d-did you not... ‘ _Little Sparrow_?!’ He looked right through me… _Otou-sama looked right through me_! Head of the clan, his… gods-for...saken legacy! Never just… never just.... me…”

As Genji started to slowly approach him, Angela’s hand shot out, squeezing his arm in a death grip. “…Don’t get any closer. Your brother isn’t himself; he could hurt you.”

“You could not just let me have this! All I wanted was... to be with Jesse.....”

Enough.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, _stop this_.” Hanzo could hurt the others, certainly, but he would never lay a finger on Jesse. Slowly, Jesse dared to inch forwards, his hands raised, as though trying to calm a frightened child. 

“...Just get the surgery, Sunshine,” he pleaded, “C’mon –” 

_Just a bit closer._

“J-Jesse…” 

“Hey… You still wanna go that diner? If you promise to get the surgery, we can go. Just you and me. We'll _split_ that milkshake.”

Mere inches away, now… He could feel the warmth of Hanzo’s bare skin, the thrum of something otherworldly raging beneath his tattoo, struggling to stay afloat in the face of an infection that it couldn’t overcome.

“ _Ah_ \- !” 

Hanzo gripped at his silver hair, digging his fingers into his face as he clawed, desperately, at his own eye. 

“…Holy shit. Hanzo -”

“G-Get back! Stop… looking at me…”

With his quiet, fearful laughter devolving into heaving sobs, Hanzo doubled over, covering his eye, trying desperately to hide the damage as a steady flow of blood dripped past his fingers and down his cheek. 

“Shh, shh... You're fine. Let’s go, Pumpkin. We can still do this -”

He extended his hand; Hanzo reached for it… 

"We'll get you some help -"

...Only to tug his arm away, at the very last second. He could feel the ghost of his fingertips upon his palm. 

Hanzo shook his head, tears cutting clean streaks through the blood, as he turned and fled into the hallway, out of his grasp. 

Despite Angela’s protests, Genji shoved her aside to chase right after him. 

“Genji, no!” she shouted, before her desperation quickly boiled away to defeat and exhaustion. “Genji…”

What more could he have done?

“I must apologize to everyone. I seem to have misjudged how quickly Shimada-san would deteriorate. He... must have stopped taking his medications; I should have monitored him more closely." Angela sighed, burying her face in her palm, "...Regardless, at this rate, he is… We simply _must_ restrain him before the situation gets any worse. Already, he is a danger to himself and to others.”

“Yeah. …You’re right,” Jesse agreed, failing to truly shake off the horror, “C’mon, we’ll find him faster if we split up.”

“Agreed. Though whoever finds him first should call for reinforcements. If this infection has spread as far as I now believe that it has, the fungus will have infected every major system of his body. His bones will be stronger than iron. Soon, he will lose the ability to communicate and to reason. His body will no longer register physical pain. Even if unarmed, he will pose a significant threat.” 

“Then we can’t let him get into town!” Lena added, “We have to block the exits.”

“R-Right!” Mei agreed, “I’ll stop him.”

“And I!” Reinhardt boomed. …Slowly, Overwatch came together, their resolve stronger than ever, to save a man who had formerly been their enemy. 

It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t find him. 

Jesse already knew it. Hanzo wouldn’t sneak into town or run into their stupid traps. He would go into hiding where Athena’s cameras couldn’t find him… and when he finally lost what few inhibitions he had left, he would come back with only instinct to guide him, blindly chasing after the scent of Jesse’s aftershave.

Hanzo would come to him - of that, he was certain. 

All he had to do was wait.


	8. Chapter 8

He came to him that night, following him onto the rooftop.

Perhaps in another lifetime, they could have sat up there for hours, watching the city fall asleep. The twinkling lights blinking out, one by one. They could have shot at the stars knowing the futility of it all, but just… going through with it, regardless. Going through with it because they could. Because it made them feel young again. Because they were free, and alive - and horsing around didn’t feel quite so stupid, when they weren’t doing it alone.

Time would pass just a little more slowly for the both of them. A bit of much needed languor in their frantic lives, trapped in a world where nothing was certain except for the fact that _death_ was certain... and always, _always_ lingering just right outside the door, waiting for a moment of carelessness - or even just a stroke of simple, bad luck.

It wouldn’t have been easy. They both had their demons. The ghosts and the shadows that crept through the darkness, waking them at 3 AM with sweat-soaked sheets and deathly pallor.

But they could endure. They could survive, even while knowing that their happiness hung by a thread. That it, and they, could fall apart in a matter of seconds.

Because horrible men, beyond redemption, were at least given the mercy to find comfort in each other.

_________________________

The distinctive click of metal boots pulled him back into reality. Jesse closed his eyes and listened. 

_click, click, click..._

...If Hanzo were entirely himself, he would have been silent.

He stared out at the little town below, his hand, resting on Peacekeeper - though when he went to draw it from its holster... he hesitated. He’d faced outrageous odds. He'd returned from suicide missions... But none of that was quite as daunting - as hard, and sick, and _suffocating_ \- as the prospect of turning around, right at that very moment. 

Jesse remembered that feeling well, from when he was younger, and still innocent enough to be shaken by what the world had left to throw at him. 

…It was _fear_.

‘Just another mission,’ he tried to tell himself. In and out. Restrain the target, deliver him to the infirmary, convince Angela to _force_ him to get the surgery, and… and that would be it. 

Hanzo would stop loving him.

…It didn't matter. _It didn't matter_ , and yet Jesse couldn't help but wonder if Hanzo would remember what had transpired between them, or if he would simply wake up, lost and confused. …Perhaps he’d get an impersonal email of his own, later, filling in the blanks and detailing the events of his own degradation, complete with sound and video that Athena surely recorded at his expense.

He didn’t know which possibility was worse.

Jesse swallowed hard around the growing lump in his throat. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, he knew. Better to just… rip off the band-aid. Painfully slowly, with pure dread, dropping in the pit of his stomach, Jesse stood… and he turned around.

What he saw, up on that rooftop, would haunt him for a lifetime. It was worse than the fall of Blackwatch, worse than the Deadlock Gang. Worse than the abominations in the old monster movies that he’d watched with Reyes, in what seemed like centuries ago.

“Oh, _God_..... Hanzo, no....” 

In a sick, morbid way… he looked _beautiful_ \- his hair, turned white as winter’s first snow. Delicate, ivory petals, blooming through the cracks in his flesh, torn open to the bone.

The infection had devoured his left eye, half blinding him. It cut open his cheek, leaving his teeth, permanently exposed.

Though Hanzo no longer coughed, the reflex long destroyed, with every strained, gagging breath, bloodied petals dropped from his lips. McCree couldn’t help but pull back - 

Caustic bile rushed up his throat; he couldn’t stop himself from vomiting over the tile -

“J-Jess…e…” 

His eyes went wide. Like a cornered animal, frozen in place, all he could was wait for impact. Hanzo's boots slowly entered his vision. The man could still talk… but it wasn’t his voice – not entirely. It was… _grainy_. Like the old recordings in his grandmother’s attic.

“I... wanted to r-run… away....”

He couldn’t look up, paralyzed by terror… and a crushing sense of guilt. Muted, he watched as Hanzo reached for him, and _still_ , he couldn’t move - He’d half-expected him to pull out his heart...

...Instead, it was that feeling again.

_Sunny Santa Fe, his back against the hot stone. Sticky, half-melted popsicle, dripping down his little arm; he didn't have a care in the world. His mother would call him back for dinner, any second now. His friends could wait. They didn't mind._

…Nobody had ever held him like that. Not like Hanzo could, pulling him into his arms, pressing his cheek against the crook of his neck. _As though he were precious. As though Hanzo were afraid he would simply shatter, right then and there_. His touch was soft. Innocent. …Jesse looked down and noticed that his fingernails were missing.

“…Hey, Sunshine.” With a gentleness that he reserved only for Hanzo, he returned his embrace, knowing full well that it would be the first – and the very last. “Sorry I never took you to that diner.” 

“I must re…d-deem… myself.” Even through that inhuman tone, McCree could sense the desperation in his voice. It broke his heart all over again. “I still… have so far to go……”

He’d heard that before… _He’d heard that before_!

“Damn it -” He wasn’t talking; he was just rattling off whatever stuck in his memory. 

"What's your name, Pumpkin? You know where we are?" ...No response. He wasn't hearing a goddamn thing. He was too far gone. _For fuck’s sake_ , it wasn’t Hanzo. It wasn’t the man who had smiled at him like he was sunlight, itself. It wasn’t even a person; it was just… a monster. A shell. A _mockery_ of the man that loved him, clinging onto him, only out of instinct. 

Perhaps the others would never admit it, but there were fates in the world worse than death. For Hanzo… it would have been a mercy. 

Fighting off the nausea, he pressed Peacekeeper’s barrel against Hanzo’s chest - and found that his hand was trembling. 

Pull the trigger - he knew that he had to. ...It wasn't Hanzo anymore. 

Pull the trigger.

... _He couldn't do it_ -

With a frustrated growl, he pushed the man back, staring into Hanzo’s one remaining eye, searching for a hint of recognition, as he gripped him hard by the shoulders, shaking him as deceptively sharp petals cut into the flesh of his hand. 

“ _Damn it_!” He shoved him aside, knocked him against the wall – “Why did you have to be so _fuckin’_ stubborn?! You son of a bitch! You _stupid_ son of a bitch! You should’ve just gotten the fuckin’ surgery! Why didn’t you -”

“..........A love… of my own…” McCree’s eyes went wide. That voice… It knocked the wind out of him. Took his breath away. “Jesse –”

_He fired._

One shot, straight through the heart.

…But there was hardly any blood. Weak spatters of crimson against a burst of ivory petals, blossoming forth in a canvas of color.

“Fuck… _Fuck_!” He emptied the other five bullets into his broken body, one after the other - point blank range - but Hanzo _just wouldn’t go down_. He soaked up those bullets like they were nothing. 

From somewhere close, Genji was shouting at him to stop, sprinting closer. Panicked steps.

Jesse heard his words, recognized his voice… but he couldn’t understand a thing.

Severely wounded, and with petals falling from his open wounds, Hanzo stumbled forwards, catching himself on his serape. 

"Jesse..." he looked at him, holding on tight, even as he slowly lost the strength to stand. “All I wanted was... to be with –”

God - _he couldn’t take it anymore_!

McCree reloaded and pressed his gun against Hanzo forehead… and he did it. He shot him. Again, and again, _and again and **again**_ , until he was screaming his throat raw, firing into an unmoving body. ...Stopping only when Genji cut him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with beautiful art from herearecollembolas and f-rei-geist!
> 
> http://herearecollembolas.tumblr.com/post/170479760056/well-written-tragic-fanfiction-hanahaki
> 
> https://f-rei-geist.tumblr.com/post/170839221199/damn-it-he-shoved-him-aside-knocked-him


	9. Epilogue

Jesse sat alone. The others crowded around the front of the mission transport, laughing at some friendly little argument between Hana and Lúcio. Just another day in the life. He yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

He considered standing up to join them when suddenly… he felt a presence. 

He whipped his head around, eager to solve the mystery. A man he didn’t recognize, a man with long, white hair and flowers blooming from his eye, smiled at him before slipping into the seat beside him. 

“…Do you remember me?” the pale man asked with a voice, too grainy to be human. He should have been frightened, he should have shouted for the others, but for some reason… this creature put him at ease - though he could never seem to focus on the image of him. Flickering in and out of his vision, like a speck of dust, ever floating. 

“I think I actually do. Yeah… I could never forget. You’re… _You’re_ -”

While he couldn’t place a name on the man, while he was certain they’d never seen each other, Jesse couldn’t help but feel as though they’d met before. 

“Do not trouble yourself; it is alright if you have forgotten. That only means that… we will have the pleasure of getting to know each other, all over again.”

A comfortable silence settled between them. The pale man stretched his tired limbs – petals dropping from his gaping wounds – before resting his head against Jesse’s shoulder. “…You should leave your friends and come with me.”

“Huh? Why would I ever do that?” Jesse asked. 

…Though the idea didn’t sound particularly unreasonable. They rode in the same transport, certainly, they were only ten, maybe fifteen paces away, but the other members of Overwatch seemed so unreachable, now.

“Because I want to stay with you. …Do you not wish to stay with me?”

“Yeah. …Of course I do.” Strangely enough, he knew he was telling the truth.

 _“Jesse.”_ It was Angie’s voice, calling for him. 

He didn’t want to answer her. Sitting in the back of the transport with the pale man by his side, he was… content. At peace, for the first time in years. 

“Excellent. Then wherever you lead, I shall follow.”

“Sorry, I forgot, but… what’s your name, darlin’?”

“’Darling’ is perfectly acceptable,” the pale man smiled with light in his eye, his teeth, whiter than porcelain, “Though I feel as though we are close enough that you may call me Han –” 

_“Jesse!”_

___________________

He jolted awake, gasping for air, with sweat-soaked sheets and deathly pallor. He reached for his shoulder – and he could almost feel the warmth of Hanzo’s lingering touch. …God, if only they could start over. 

“Are you alright?” Angela asked, guiding him back down to earth as his panic subsided. She sighed when he finally calmed himself… Though her face lit up in a comforting smile, it never truly reached her eyes, “The funeral is over, finally. I only wanted to check in on you before I returned to the infirmary.”

Of course she did. She’d been working herself ragged ever since Hanzo passed. He knew that she felt somewhat responsible for failing to track his medication compliance herself – not that she could have forced him to take it.

“How do you feel?”

“C’mon, Angie. You gonna ask ‘bout my mother next? …You don’t gotta start walkin’ on eggshells ‘round me. I didn’t actually… y’know - love the guy.”

But his chest ached – and not from the wounds that Genji had left on him, screaming out curses as he brought that sword down again and again…

“There is nothing wrong with the act of mourning,” Angela reassured him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, “…You have endured a trying ordeal.”

“Yeah. Couldn’t have gone any worse.” He ran his fingers through his greasy, unwashed hair before putting on his hat. “How’s Genji holdin’ up?”

“He is still adamant about leaving Overwatch,” she sighed, “He and Zenyatta, together. They will return to Nepal for some time, to help him find peace with… all of this.”

“Did he mention me?”

“He did, though only for a moment. …He was glad that you respected his wishes.”

“Yeah, well it’s his brother’s funeral, and I’m the one that killed him.” _Gunned him down in cold blood._ “…Stayin’ away was the least I could do.”

Every synapse in his brain was screaming. Murderer. _Murderer_ –

“Jesse… By the time that you found him, Shimada-san’s condition was irreversible. Genji is only lashing out. In time, surely, he will come to understand the truth. Nobody will blame you.”

“Nobody’ll blame me _because_ I’m me. Right?” he began, standing suddenly. It was clear from his lack of coordination that he hadn’t been sleeping well. “But if it was anybody else that got sick, if it was Han that shot them down, would you be sayin’ that to him? No… No, there would’ve been a witch hunt. Hell, I would’ve joined in, too. If none of this had happened, if I hadn’t ever talked to him, _I_ would’ve been the first one to start pointin’ fingers. …But he wouldn’t have deserved that. He didn’t deserve _this_.”

“Jesse, may I say something, not as your doctor, but as your friend?” Friend. Not ‘coworker.’ There wasn’t any of the professional distance that she used with Hanzo.

“…Yeah.”

“Even if he had survived, Shimada-san would have lost his love for you – the one thing that he treasured most, to the bitter end.”

Had he received the surgery, Jesse wanted to believe that he and Hanzo could have formed a friendship, even a tentative one, after he recovered… but he knew that it wouldn’t have been possible.

“I really screwed him over, didn’t I? He would’ve been walkin’ around half blind, knowin’ it was because of me.”

“You did not cause this. It is not your fault.”

“Yeah, maybe not _directly_. …But he would’ve known that he went through all that shit for nothin’.” 

“He wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself. He loved you.”

“He did. He… He really loved me. … Fuckin’ Genji! I should have gone to Han’s funeral, anyway… What if he thinks I forgot about him?”

Her eyebrows furrowed, and he knew she had a lecture in store… though perhaps due to the circumstances, Angela held her tongue, merely choosing to pat him on the shoulder. 

“If you would like to visit his shrine, then wait until tonight, after Genji has left. You were lucky that evening. I was only _just_ able to save you. …I don’t know if I can do so twice.”

 _Lucky_. That was a laugh. Now he had to live with the guilt. The memory. ...What was it that Genji had said? 

_‘The only reason that I chose to spare you is because I could never face my brother’s spirit after killing the man that he loved.’_

The man that he loved…

“Okay. If you think it’ll be for the best, I’ll wait until tonight, then. By the way, though, has anyone… y’know, cleaned out Han’s – _Hanzo’s_ – room?”

“Not yet. Genji will be the one to go through his belongings before his flight to Nepal. Why do you ask?”

“Well, Hanzo’s been takin’ my stuff, recently, and I’m runnin’ out of underwear. … _Had_ been takin’ my stuff, I mean.”

“I see. Then you should hurry and collect your belongings. It… might be easier for Genji, as well.”

“Well, I better get goin’ if I wanna have enough time to sort through all his stuff.”

“Take care,” he heard her saying, as he grabbed his crutches and started out the door. 

A few stragglers from the funeral passed him by on the way to Han’s room. Mei and Lúcio looked appropriately solemn, at the very least, though Lena was as energetic as ever. He knew that she was only trying to defuse the tense atmosphere, but he couldn’t help but imagine taking Peacekeeper and _slamming_ it against her -

He shook his head and stormed past them, ignoring their words of sympathy.

When he arrived outside of Hanzo’s room, he didn’t know what to expect. He’d never been inside of it. …Nobody had. The man had been secretive at his best and paranoid at his worst - but during his final days, he’d slipped a little piece of paper under Jesse’s door. …The passcode to his bedroom. 

It had been intended as a sexual proposition, certainly, and while Jesse had admittedly found him attractive, he never would have taken advantage of him during such a moment of grave vulnerability.

Even so… perhaps he should have visited. He could have brought coffee and snacks. They could have watched a movie together, and maybe… maybe that would have made a difference somehow. He could already predict Hanzo’s tastes: documentaries and sullen, black and white dramas where everybody died – 

They would have argued about what to watch, but it wouldn’t have even made a difference because halfway through, even though they’d agreed to keep their encounter rated PG, Hanzo would pull up his little kimono inch by inch, and Jesse would finally figure out whether those legs were prosthetic -

God, how fucked up could he be, thinking something like that about a dead man? Startling himself back into reality, Jesse punched in the code and went inside.

It was like stepping back in time. A little rice cooker and portable stove in the corner, paper books, scrolls and brushes… 

He didn’t even have a TV. 

In a way, it was almost… cozy. Though he knew it was wrong, and dirty, and sick, Jesse kicked off his boots and crawled into Hanzo’s bed. He pressed his face against his pillow and breathed in deep – 

Yuzu and sage…

He stayed like that until sundown, resting in Hanzo’s bed, cocooned in his blankets – and the stolen serape he’d found, hidden between the bed and the wall - which also had begun to smell of Hanzo’s soaps. …The man had been wearing it, then. Jesse couldn’t help but smile, relieved that it had brought him some comfort during his final days.

By the end of the night, he’d packed up his missing clothes – and a golden ribbon, stolen from Hanzo’s closet - along with a few journals detailing what Hanzo had wanted to do with their future: how many children they would adopt, a list of names, places to settle down -

His hopes and dreams, condensed into a few little stacks of paper.

He went to reach for another, sitting on the windowsill, when he saw _it_ – 

___________________

Only after Genji had returned to his room did he allow himself to visit Hanzo’s grave: just a small, makeshift shrine – the best that they could piece together, with so few resources. The urn didn’t even have a body inside of it.

Having infected Hanzo’s bone marrow, destroying his immune system, the infection had spread rapidly, devouring his corpse in a matter of minutes, before his body had even had a chance to cool. All that was left to burn… were flowers.

“…Hey, Han,” Jesse greeted, with a warmth to his voice that no one else had ever heard, “Brought you somethin’ – though I figure Genji’ll toss ‘em when he finds it in the morning.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the single flower that he’d found in Hanzo’s room, floating in a sake cup – and its eternal companion, Peacekeeper's bullet casing. With a strange, unfitting sense of finality, he placed them into Hanzo’s shrine and took a seat on the grass, beside him.

“Y’know… I can’t believe you wanted to name our son ‘Genji,’” he laughed, running his fingers over the meticulously positioned photograph of Hanzo, sitting in the center of the shrine, “Like we need another one of him runnin’ around. Causin’ trouble for everyone.”

“…He got me, you know? Real bad. So bad I’ll be out of commission, for a while. But you should forgive him. …Since now, at least I can take care of your shrine after he leaves for Nepal. Think I’ll make you… pancakes for breakfast on the first day, and a burger for lunch. We’ll split the milkshake," he teased with a wink, "…How ‘bout it, darlin’?”

A thick heaviness rose in his chest. …He recognized that feeling, even if he hadn’t given into it in decades. That crushing pressure behind his eyes.

“Oh, Jesus, here it comes… Guess you don’t think I’m too handsome now, huh?”

He cleared his throat to try to stop himself from crying… though it almost felt as though something were _stuck_ in his chest. He coughed again and again, until he finally felt a bit of relief. When he moved his tongue however… he knew that something was there. Something small and light - and deceptively sharp. 

When he pulled it out and held it up to the moonlight, Jesse found a single flower, white as winter’s first snow.

“So that's how it is. ...Alright, Han.” He smiled, placing the flower right beside his. “If that's how you want it, you lead... I’ll follow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me through this story! 
> 
> This had originally started as a tentative dabble into the world of fanfiction, but I have truly come to understand the appeal! Being able to weave this story and share it with all of you has been a pleasure - one that I hope to repeat in the very near future!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You Lead, I'll Follow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14143791) by [Floatinglonewanderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floatinglonewanderer/pseuds/Floatinglonewanderer)




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